


am i the only one i know (waging my wars behind my face and above my throat)

by leifstroganoff



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, me? projecting onto my favorite characters? very likely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leifstroganoff/pseuds/leifstroganoff
Summary: five times leif suffered in silence and one time tobin wouldn't let him
Relationships: Tobin Batra/Leif Donnelly
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	am i the only one i know (waging my wars behind my face and above my throat)

**Author's Note:**

> this is just me projecting my own bad feelings abt not being able to enjoy things because of migraines onto leif i hope at least one other person enjoys it or can relate
> 
> (also tw for vomit in the first 2 parts, i didnt describe it in detail or anything but its there)

1.

Leif was thirteen years old when he got his first migraine. He’d had run of the mill headaches for years - he was a smart kid who regularly pushed himself past his limits, stress headaches were pretty much inevitable. But it wasn't until the eighth grade that the migraines started to hit.

He’d been invited to a friend’s sleepover and honestly, he’d been pretty stoked about it. He was a weak, nerdy kid and he would be the first to admit that he didn’t have a lot of friends in middle school; while his friend might not have been _‘cool’_ either, being invited to his friend’s birthday party had been like a big sign saying “everyone doesn’t actually hate you, that’s rad!” and it was a sign he was willing to accept with wide open arms.

For the first half of the night, he had the most fun he’d had since his fifth grade graduation party. His friend’s family had an above ground pool in their backyard that they spent the first few hours splashing around in, his mom ordered way too much pizza for the five total boys that had shown up, and she had even set up a sundae bar for dessert. He may not have had much to compare it to, but as he watched his friend play Luigi’s Mansion and every boy chimed in with advice and laughed when he messed up, he felt like he was a part of something, and he decided that that was a feeling he really, really liked.

He had noticed some pain earlier in the evening, opting to ignore it in favor of watching his friends as they’d switched to playing _Super Smash Brothers_. He’d assumed he was just getting another stress headache _(it’s just the anxiety of an unfamiliar situation_ , he told himself) and the dull ache behind his eyebrow would just have to take a backseat to the fun he was having. 

This evasion technique worked until all of the boys were making their palettes on the floor, preparing to go to sleep for the night. By this point, the dull ache had intensified to a full on pounding that he was still trying (and majorly failing) to ignore. As the other boys fell into silent sleeps, he found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to succumb to the beckoning call of sleep even if he’d wanted to. And, boy, he _wanted to._

One hour passed and then two, and he was still tossing and turning in the pile of blankets on his section of the floor. Sweat made his pajamas cling uncomfortably to his back and legs, heartbeat racing beneath a cotton t-shirt. He wasn’t _sick_ , he knew that. He wasn’t running a fever (though, he was deceivingly warm) and nothing hurt except for the pounding in his head. His tired lungs begged for a full breath of air and he couldn’t find a way to actually give it to them, mind roaming to thirty different places at once. 

He thought of the techniques his therapist (his parents had made him see one when he wasn’t ‘connecting’ with other kids in elementary school, though he never actually understood why and he used the time more to talk about them yelling at each other) had drilled into his head; breathe in four counts, hold two, breathe out four counts, but each moment of concentration made his head pound more. On his second try of counting, he felt hot bile coming up through his chest and _Jesus Christ, could this night make him feel any worse?_

His body sprang into action before his mind had the forethought to try not to wake up any of the other kids (thankfully, he found that teenage boys sleep deeper than a bear in hibernation). His legs carried him to the bathroom down the hall and before he’d even had a chance to process what was happening, he was watching the contents of his stomach fall into the toilet bowl.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with an involuntary groan, collapsing against the bathtub and drawing his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead against the top of his knees, using his leverage against the floor to lift his heels up and create pressure against his pounding temples. If he wasn’t worried about the embarrassment of any of the other boys or his friend’s parents finding him in the morning, he would have fallen asleep right there, pressure ever-so-slightly relieving the pain coursing through his entire head. 

Instead, he stayed there until he couldn’t anymore, on the brink between sleep and being awake, just awake enough to feel the heavy burden weighing his head down, but just close enough to sleep that he didn’t care how pathetic he looked curled into himself like this. Eventually, he decided everyone else would be waking up soon, so he snuck back into the room, ready to pretend that everything was peachy keen and he’d had the best night of his prepubescent life. The other boys woke up, they had a “healthy, wealthy breakfast” (and he didn’t even really want to ask his friend’s mom what that was _supposed_ to mean anyways), his mom picked him up, and he never mentioned to anyone else how horrible the night had been for him. It was one of the first times he chose likeability over honesty outright.

2.

The migraines didn’t stop. He knew if he talked to his parents and told them he’d been struggling he could probably go to a doctor and get help with them, but the fucked up thing was that he didn’t think he _wanted_ help. Because if he accepted help, that meant that he was acknowledging something was hurting him and in his eyes, that was just another weakness. So, he spent some days not getting out of bed and some days suffering silently through loud noises in the cafeteria and the obnoxious theatre kids he surrounded himself with (and Tobin, who was a cacophony of loud noises in his own right) and somehow he thought that was better than just admitting that something was wrong with him. 

Despite that, none of them were as bad as the first one, until the night of his Junior year prom. He’d now come to know what triggered them and how to know they were coming, so when he saw the tell-tale floaters in his vision as he fussed with his hair in the mirror, he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach dropped. He wasn’t even really looking forward to the prom (loud music, a crowded room full of his peers, and Tobin ignoring him to try and dance with every girl that was out of his league? Not exactly Leif’s dream evening), but he still felt himself growing bitter that another day and another big event would be ruined by something completely out of his control.

He found himself lingering against the wall farthest away from the DJ’s setup, cup of punch clutched in his hand when Tobin sidled up to him mid-sip.

“You know that’s hella spiked, right?” _Well, that’s great._ After a second of hesitation and a half-hearted shrug, he downed the rest of the plastic cup. “Alright, well, dude, if you feel like you wanna stop moping in the corner, hypothetically, _somebody_ , definitely not me, just requested the _Cha Cha Slide_ , so the dance floor’s about to get lit.” 

As Tobin shimmied back out into the middle of the floor, he briefly considered listening to his friend and just sucking it up and going out and dancing and forcing himself to have fun. When he tried to take action on that thought, he very quickly reconsidered when his vision blurred and he had to catch himself on the table he was standing next to. _So much for pretending, then_.

“I’m surprised to see Leif Donnelly all dressed up at prom,” The voice from next to him surprises him; both because he hadn’t noticed anyone walk up next to him (and geez, he must’ve really been out of it) and because he didn’t recognize the girl at all. 

Confusion must’ve been etched onto his face because she stuck her hand out and started an awkward introduction.

“I’m Leila. We have four classes together this year alone and we’ve gone to school together since Kindergarten.” He still didn’t recognize her, though at least this time he felt a pang of guilt.

“Oh, uh… _cool?”_ He didn’t mean to sound rude or sarcastic, but the music was far too loud, the _Cha Cha Slide_ was far too obnoxious, and he really didn’t have the energy at the moment to filter out the things you’re supposed to say to people versus the things you’re not.

“I was just saying, I wouldn’t consider you the _prom type,_ y’know?”

“Uh…” He didn’t really know how to respond, racking his brain for what this chick’s deal was. “No, I don’t really know.”

“I mean, I only really say that ‘cause _I’m_ not the prom type, either.” 

He knew how to respond to that _less,_ and it could only kind of be blamed on the dots dancing in his vision and the alcohol that was starting to hit him - he was gripping the cup in his hand far too tight and this poor stranger’s face should definitely not have been as out of focus as it was. 

“So, since neither of us are… I was thinking maybe, if you wanted to, we could… _dance together?”_

And he at least had the decency to feel bad that the nervous words she was saying went in one ear and out the other as he took in a deep breath and let it rack his lungs, the shitty plastic cup finally crushing in his hands as he attempted to blink away the pain permeating the base of his skull.

“I’m sorry, you seem really nice, but, uh…” He squeezed his eyes shut, using the hand that wasn’t carrying crushed plastic to rub at the bridge of his nose as he felt the pressure in his chest grow stronger. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I have to go vomit.” 

And he breezed past her, leaving a very confused and disappointed young girl in his wake as he tried not to let the bile pushing up in his chest come up before he had a chance to push open the doors to the overcrowded gym. The cool outside air hit his face immediately, mixing with the clammy sweat that had begun to cling his hair to his forehead. 

As fast as he processed the outside air, he was on his knees, watching the shitty spiked punch and cookies spill onto over-treated grass. The smell made him more nauseated than he had been before and he brought shaking fingers up to push sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead, letting out an equally shaky laugh. He couldn’t tell what he found funny about the situation, but his head felt heavy and the aches in his muscles felt like a shiver going through his body and any energy he had been able to fake up until this point had left abruptly. 

He mustered up enough energy to move far enough away from the pile of his vomit that he could no longer smell it, leaning up against the building and resting his head against his knees. The thought of calling his mother to pick him up sounded more appealing by the second, but he didn’t quite have the energy to explain _why_ he wanted to be picked up and couldn’t just wait for his friends, so he shut that train of thought down before he got too hopeful.

Instead, he would just have to wait for Tobin here, where the cool air at least felt good against far too warm skin. If anything, he could at least be glad for the solitude from the loud sounds coming from inside the gym and the fact that no one had seemed to follow him. 

3.

He should’ve been having fun and he knew he should’ve been having fun and he _wanted_ to be having fun. He hadn’t seen Tobin in person since the summer they graduated (a less than sneaky hack and a jail stint’ll do that to a friendship) and it was his sophomore year in college now, by all means, seeing Tobin again should’ve been the highlight of his year. But Tobin had wanted to get an ounce of the _“true college experience”_ and had insisted on going to a rager (something Leif himself hadn’t actually had the urge to do in the three years he’d spent there, yet), which is how Leif found himself once again standing at the edge of the room, sipping on shitty alcohol that he was at least old enough to legally drink now.

In his defense, the migraine didn’t actually hit him until well into the party and he hadn’t noticed any of the tell-tale signs prior, otherwise he would’ve felt totally comfortable asking Tobin to stay in for the night. But now that they were actually _out_ and Tobin was pretty drunk, there was no hope of tearing him away from the new friends he’d made out of strangers and the many, many shots he was doing in the middle of their living room. 

It was at least another twenty minutes of wall-moping before Tobin stumbled up to him and slung an arm around his shoulder.

“Dude, this is _dope._ I can’t believe I skipped out on the college ish if it’s like this all the time.” 

“It’s - It’s really _not.”_ He probably could’ve said more to discourage Tobin from a life of drinking and partying, but the pounding in his head was pretty distracting and he was a little more focused on the warmth of his arm around his neck. 

“Whatever, dude, my boy Alex over there is preppin’ a game of spin the bottle, come join, I’m tired of seeing you moping in the corner.”

“I don’t really -”

_“Dude,_ I’m here to spend time with you, not these frat dudes. Come play with us, I’ve missed you.”

And that was enough to sway him. No matter how much he tried, he could never really say no to Tobin, not when he looked so earnest and when he could see such genuine care in his eyes. Leif wasn’t a sucker for a lot, but a genuine connection and friendship that he had missed for the last three years of his life? He couldn’t deny that when it was staring him right in the face, begging him to push past the pain and spend time with him. 

“Alright, fine.” 

So, he let Tobin drag him by the arm to the circle forming on the living room floor, full of frat boys and girls who were trying just a little too hard to impress the frat boys (and really, what is there to impress? Look at all the weirdly hard socks around their rooms, bro, they are _not_ any better than you, in fact, every single girl in the room is out of their league, in Leif’s very humble opinion). 

And to Leif’s chagrin, the crowd encouraged Tobin, sitting directly next to him, to go first, spinning the bottle with a smirk and a wink to the pretty girl across from him (and if that made his stomach twist, he would definitely blame that on the floating lights dancing in his vision and not the dumb longing he’s held in his heart since sophomore year of high school).

When the bottle landed on him, he felt his heart stop, nerves twisting around in his stomach and lungs refusing to take in any breath of stale, alcohol-soaked air. 

“Dude, you can just take the shot if you --” 

He tried to deflect, but Tobin’s lips crashed into his before he had a chance to finish the sentence, chapped lips working against ones flavored with strawberry and the worst part was that he liked it. Tobin was rough, in a cool way. He was rough in the way that said ‘I’m enjoying this, but I’ll be over it as soon as we disconnect’, in a way that Leif could never be, because he held onto everything. Everything he felt, he felt deeply and to the extreme. The way his lips moved against Tobin’s and the way his heart fluttered in his chest and felt like it dropped to his stomach wouldn’t leave him as soon as their lips were no longer connected. 

And just like that, they _were_ no longer connected and Tobin’s smile turned back towards the group of college kids, coy and braggadocious; it was no longer a moment shared between the two of them, but a flex to the circle. Tobin was cool in a way Leif would never be and his experience of that moment would never be the same connection that Leif felt.

“I’m gonna, uh, step outside,” Leif whispered, low enough that only Tobin could hear it as he pushed himself up off of the messy, carpeted floor, stumbling towards the fresh air outside, finally acknowledging the pounding in his head as he planted himself firmly in the porch swing that sat outside, finally unaccompanied by drunk college kids desperate for a break from the monotony of classwork. 

Tobin didn’t spend much longer inside and, to his credit, he asked Leif tirelessly if he was okay on the way back to his off-campus apartment, not believing a single word of the excuses that rolled off his tongue; “I’m just tired”, “it’s been a long week”. 

“Dude, if you’re so tired, I can’t, in good conscience, take your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch, you need to rest, bro.” 

“No, c’mon, you’re my guest. I’ll sleep on the couch, you take the bed, seriously.” 

_“Dude, no._ I can _see_ the bags under your eyes, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“If you’re gonna make it an issue, why don’t we just share the bed? It’s a queen, anyways.” 

“Good enough for me. Bros sharing a bed. No big deal.” 

It was a pretty big deal to Leif, actually, but he played it off as cool as he could, hugging a pillow to his chest until Tobin’s arm drifted over his torso in his sleep. It might’ve been a sleepy accident, but _god,_ Leif had never felt more comforted than pulled tight against Tobin’s chest, pain pulling behind his forehead forgotten until the morning. 

4.

After that, he decided that maybe getting help wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. He was an adult now, he wouldn’t have to worry about his parents opinion of him (though, his age wouldn’t stop him from worrying about how they perceived him for a long time) and, quite frankly, he couldn’t just suffer through them anymore.

So, he went to a doctor and the doctor essentially said that he needed to cut loose a little. He waxed on about how it’s very hard to pin migraines down to a single cause; they could be genetic, influenced by lifestyle, environmental, or they could just… _be_ without a reason. Leif hated that, most of all; that he couldn’t just be told “this is what’s wrong, here’s how you fix it, good luck” and be sent on his way. Instead, he was told to try to limit stressors (ha, fat chance) and then handed a prescription for an abortive medicine that would help if he could feel one coming on. 

And it got better. Well, marginally. There would always be migraines that came on without the warning signs, sudden and painful and those he would have to suffer through. But for the most part, he saw the signs, took a pill, and even if he had to suffer through a minor headache, it wasn’t _debilitating_ and he felt like he could still function.

But there were still the bad ones, too, the ones that didn’t show warning signs and just popped up, usually at the worst possible times; like, say, at a launch party for the first successful product of his career at SPRQpoint. 

So, there he was, pain permeating from the base of his neck to behind his eyes, a far too wide and forced smile pasted on his face as the higher-up hotshot he was talking to waxed on about what an impressive piece of tech they’d created and how influential it would be in the field. He should care what he had to say; if he befriended this guy, he could rise through the ranks in no time. But the ambition thrumming in his bones didn’t quite outshine the pain that felt as if a stake was sticking from the base of his skull to his forehead, so he smiled a polite smile and excused himself to the bathroom where he could splash water on his face and pray that the Excedrin he had begged off of one of his coworkers would kick in soon. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” 

He’d barely registered Sam, who was hired at the same time as him, walking into the bathroom and he made eye contact in the mirror, registering how pale he looked. 

“Never better.” He lied easily, though he wasn’t sure how convincing it was as Sam walked to the urinal and did his business. 

“Alright, just,” He came up to the sink next to Leif and began to wash his hands, a worried glance spared toward the taller man. “Maybe drink some water, dude. You look like you’ve had one too many.”

“Will do.” He said, taking the opportunity to splash some more water on his face, figuring it was better if Sam just thought he was drunk and trying to sober up. “Thanks, man.” 

He was able to stomach about twenty more minutes at the party before he found Tobin and let him know he was gonna get an Uber home (to which Tobin responded with a thumbs up and a large sip of his drink), where he promptly flopped face down onto the couch and shoved a throw pillow over the back of his head. He stayed there until the morning. When he woke up, the throw pillow was beneath his head and the throw blanket that usually rested across the back of the couch was over him. The only assumption he could make is that Tobin had felt bad when he’d gotten home and he couldn’t help the warmth that flushed through his stomach at the thought of Tobin’s small, caring action. The migraine might not have faded overnight, but at least he felt a little better.

5.

The next time one managed to catch him off guard was similarly shitty timing; he found very quickly that it was very hard to help pitch a product to investors when it felt like someone was poking many tiny needles through his forehead.

Nevertheless, he continued; he rubbed at the back of his neck, putting extra pressure where his head felt too heavy, words leaving his mouth before his brain had fully processed them, praying that they made sense. Based on the soft smile on the old man’s face, he could tell he wasn’t doing a _terrible_ job at bullshitting it at least, no matter how fuzzy his brain felt as the words left his mouth, running more on instinct than anything else. 

He finished the lunch pitch only half-discouraged, paying his part of the check before leaving. He stopped at a park on the way back to the office, to sit with his head in his hands and just listen to the birds chirping around him. He didn’t fully feel like he’d failed (he knew the pitch had still gone fairly well, despite his loss of focus), but he knew he could’ve done better and he knew he _would’ve_ done better if it weren’t for the stupid pain pushing through every freaking nerve in his head. 

He had been trusted with a fairly important responsibility (pitch this product, _get us the funding)_ and he couldn’t help but to feel that he’d failed his boss by not being at his best, no matter how much that might’ve been out of his control. He remained at the park, fingers pressing firmly against the pressure point on the back of his neck, briefly alleviating the blinding pain with his eyes closed as he silently identified which birds were singing in the trees around the perimeter, until he knew he would be expected back at the office. 

He walked back in and assured Joan that the pitch had gone well, that it hadn’t been a mistake to give him this responsibility, that it was _fine_ , and that the investor had assured they’d hear from him as soon as a decision had been made. 

He stood back at his desk, pushing two fingers into his temple, desperately trying to get something, anything done before the day was over. Code sat untouched, focus only regained long enough to assure Tobin that he was fine (though, he could tell Tobin didn’t believe him, anyways). 

He asked Joan to leave early, pleading with her that the pitch had just stressed him out, surely only amplifying Tobin’s concern, opting to pass out on his bed instead of continuing to worry about progress made or the pressure that felt like a hydraulic press coming down on either side of his head. 

He had never been more glad for the next day to be Saturday, sleeping through the rest of the afternoon and half of the next day, too. He woke up to a cup of tea and a plate of cookies made from scratch on his bedside table with a note that said _‘dude, stop trying to hide your pain. you’re not good at it. feel better (or else)’_ with a crude knife drawn at the end. He couldn’t help the soft smile that drifted onto his face.

+1

At least the next time he was caught off guard it wasn’t a public affair. It was a Friday night when it hit him and a Saturday morning when he actually had to deal with it. He went through the motions through the entirety of Saturday, making a cup of tea around noon and deciding that he really needed to put actual food in his stomach at about four. 

He then laid back down and slept until it was dark outside, waking back up to a pitch black room and a piercing pain in his temple, running behind his eyes and culminating in the cartilage of his nose. 

He decided then that he really needed something warm and soothing, pushing himself out of bed and stumbling from his room to the kitchen, the bright LED light piercing his eyes and causing small floaters to appear in his vision. He opened the cabinet, reaching for the teabags in the back, but accidentally knocking his hand into a box of spaghetti instead, sending it forward and flying to the floor. _Shit._

He crouched down, starting to scoop up the spaghetti noodles that had fallen out of the box, only barely registering Tobin rounding the corner into the kitchen.

“Dude, you good?”

The voice spooked him, making him lose his balance where he’d crouched, barely catching himself on his right hand. 

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m _fine,”_ The way he squinted his eyes shut and fell onto his ass didn’t really support his assertion. 

“Yeah, you _seem_ real fine.”

Tobin at least had the decency to crouch down and finish cleaning up the spaghetti as he mocked him in disbelief.

“Dude, _really,_ I just… I’ve got a headache, it’s fine, I was gonna make a cup of tea.”

“ _Is it?_ Fine?” Tobin put the box of spaghetti on the counter, standing up and taking Leif by the arm to make sure he stood up, too. 

“Yeah, dude, seriously.” 

Tobin’s face reflected that he absolutely did not believe him, reaching into the cabinet to grab the tea that Leif had previously failed to grab, flicking the stove eye beneath their kettle on as he set the box of _earl grey_ down on the counter. 

“Because _just a headache_ brings you totally out of commission for a day and a half. _That checks out.”_

Leif leaned himself against the counter next to the stove, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Tobin talked.

“Really, I’m f-”

“If you say you’re fine again, I’m gonna Kobe this tea into the trash can. You’re not fine, dude, anyone could see that. _Joan_ could see that.”

“Tobes…” 

_“Leif…”_ Tobin’s voice was more stern than he was used to, brown eyes focused on him in disapproval and it almost made him feel _guilty._

_“Alright,_ maybe I’m not okay…” 

“Damn straight.” Tobin turned the eye off as the kettle whistled, moving it over to one of the other eyes, grabbing a mug from where they hung above the sink and placing a tea bag into it before pouring the boiling water over it. 

Leif closed his eyes while the tea brewed, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as Tobin watched silently, worried eyes focusing on the pained expression that clouded his face. 

“Are you gonna tell me what’s up or do I need to start guessing?”

Leif cracked open an eye to gauge how serious Tobin was (dead serious, according to his calculations). 

“Nothing, seriously.” Tobin’s disbelief was still evident on his face and Leif’s stomach twisted at the worry that was clouded within. “Alright, _something._ I just - I get migraines and they suck and it’s really not a big deal, I know how to deal with them by now.”

Tobin’s eyes softened at that, hand moving to rub against Leif’s bicep, a move that was surely intended to be comforting.

“Dude, why didn’t you just say that?” His hand drops back to his side, pushing the cup of tea towards him. “That’s not, like, _shameful._ Have you seen a doctor?” 

“Yeah. I have. I’ve got meds for it, they just… sometimes I don’t see them coming, I’m really fine.” He mumbled the last half of the sentence before burying his face in a sip of tea. 

“Mhm,” Tobin reached out, putting his hands around the cup of tea and dragging it, along with Leif’s hands, down to the counter. He replaced the cup of tea with his own hands, lacing them with Leif’s (which earned him a look of confusion) as he started to walk backwards and towards Leif’s room (and to his credit, Leif didn’t even think about disconnecting their hands once Tobin had connected them), dragging him through the doorway and towards his bed. “If you don’t rest, I swear to god.” 

“You swear to god, what?” 

“I swear to god, I’ll…” He really didn’t have a good threat, at least not one that would _work._ ‘I swear to god, I’ll kiss you?’ Even with his repressed feelings, he was pretty damn sure Leif wouldn’t object to that too much. ‘I’ll kill you?’ He knew as well as Leif did that that wasn’t even kind of on the table. “I don’t know, dude, isn’t it enough that I care about you and _want_ you to rest?” 

“You care about me?”

“Oh, come on, don’t act surprised, asshole.” Tobin pushed him down onto his bed, climbing in next to him without thinking too hard about it. “We care about each other. That’s kind of our thing. Go to bed before I care about you harder.” 

And he did, slinging his arm over Tobin and deciding the feeling of comfort that that brought was a problem for the morning, when he would wake up curled into Tobin’s side, feeling more content and comforted than he had in years, despite the dull pain still brewing behind his brow. Maybe it wasn’t such a problem after all, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> comments give me all the validation i need i would literally kill a man for you if you leave a comment


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